


Dear John

by Wisteria_Mutterings



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Archivist Jonathan Sims, Childhood Trauma, Comfort, Do Not Archive (The Magnus Archives), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Is Gay, Gay, Hugs, M/M, Men Crying, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sad John, Whump, helpful martin, mlm, the magnus archives post season one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:22:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23379802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wisteria_Mutterings/pseuds/Wisteria_Mutterings
Summary: The first time Martin caught John crying he hadn’t known what to do.So he simply didn’t do anything.By the third time, however, Martin doesn't think his heart can take it, and decides to help the archivist, whether John wants it or not.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Kudos: 144





	Dear John

The first time Martin caught John crying he hadn’t known what to do.

So he simply didn’t do anything. He’d stood there for a minute, sure, and just stared at John’s hunched figure, the way one fist was buried in his mouth and his shoulders and back tensed and shook gently. He’d thought about going in, sure, but then John made a little sound, like a whimper or a prayer, and Martin decided it best to leave the archivist alone.

So Martin had swallowed his question and left the door ajar, so as not to alert John to his present by closing it, and tip-toed out of the archives and up to artifact storage to make idle conversation until he heard John step outside for a cigarette.

The second time he heard it through the door. There was a crash and a shatter and Martin had leapt up to go in and see what was wrong, but just before he reached the door he heard a soft sob and he stopped.

“John?” He had called, “are you okay?”

“Fine!” John all but screamed back, “how about you stop wasting your time waiting for something to go wrong and do your bloody job Martin!”

It had stung, sure, it always stung when John degraded him, but Martin knew now that John was going through something bigger and worse than just workplace frustration. When John emerged later that day, holding the shattered remains of a green mug, Martin had to bite his lip to keep from gasping.

The archivist looked horrible, his eyes were bloodshot and had deep circles beneath them. His looked pale and shakey and as he passed Martin a piece of the mug slipped from his hands and fell onto the floor.

“Don’t worry,” Martin all but whispered, “I’ll get it.”

He swore he saw John’s lip wobble there, for a minute. Martin turned his eyes down as John hurried to the bin.

“Tim,” Martin asked later, as they were both preparing to go home, “do you recon there’s something wrong with John?”

“He’s a paranoid old coot.” Tim sneered, “so yes.”

Martin realized he’d have to help John on his own.

The third time it happened there was no crash, no exclamation of anger or sadness, just the click of the tape recorder turning off in the middle of a statement.

Before he could think the better of it, Martin took a deep breath, stood up and swung John’s door in, ready to take whatever verbal lashing John was sure to give. Martin puffed out his chest and stood in the doorway and opened his mouth.

“John I know there’s something wrong and you can scream at me all you’d like but I am here to-”

Martin broke off as John curled even further away from him, pulling his feet up into his chair and hiding his face away from the door. He again had a fist buried in his mouth, and as Martin opened the door the archivist's breath hitched and got faster.

“J-John I-”

But Martin didn’t know what to say then. He heard a rustle and instantly slammed the door on instinct, causing John to jump.

Martin, unsure of what else to do, crept toward John and placed a gentle hand on his back.

“Tell me what’s wrong…”

And to Martin’s absolute astonishment, John did, and he grabbed Martin’s hand in a death grip as he did it.

“I ca-an’t sleep anymore, I get these awful nightmares, I have to leave the lights on...I am so tired Martin I’m so very tired. Everything is after me, I can feel it, Prentiss, the institute, the tunnels, I-I can’t stop it...Sasha is lying to me, Tim is aggressive I can’t fig-ure out how to stop it Martin, oh god Martin wh-at do I do?”

And with that John broke, really and truly broke and began to sob.

“Oh dear!” Martin yelped, before he dropped down next to the chair to keep John from pitching himself from it. The older man ended up rolling too far and fell to the floor. Martin tried to catch him, but managed to wack his elbow and wince as John’s hip collided hard with the wooden floor.

John turned and seemed to be trying to hide himself against Martin’s chest, and Martin reached out and squeezed John with what little strength he had in his spindly arm.

“It’s o-okay John,” Martin stammered.

“No it’s not! It’s n-ot okay Mar-tin!”

“Well okay um no maybe not but...but…”

“But what?!”

“...You don’t have to go through it alone, John.”

John didn’t reply to him. So Martin held the archivist until the tears and the trembling stopped. Until John was pushing himself off the floor and muttering apologies and tidying papers on his desk.

And all Martin could do was lurch forward and crash his lips into John’s.

There was a soft muffled protest for only a moment, before John seemed to melt and grip Martin’s arms gently.

“Come home with me,” Martin begged softly. “Maybe you’ll get some sleep there...if you aren’t alone.”

John was quiet for a moment.

“Yes,” he said finally. 

“Yes I think I will. Thank you, Martin.”


End file.
